


Whispered Wishes and Dying Dreams (HxH Big Bang)

by BlackSilkenRose



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood, M/M, Sexual Content, Suicide reference, Violence, hxhbb, leorio/kurapika - Freeform, minor Leorio/fem OC, please read tags as warnings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 15:59:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 14,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7059508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackSilkenRose/pseuds/BlackSilkenRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kurapika wished he was above the “what could have beens” of life, the stifling moments of quiet, lost in thought and longing. Stubborn and resilient, it is restless times like these that push him to the edges of his limits, and the brink of personal, intimate madness.</p><p>Leorio never would have guessed that he wasn’t the only one wishing: for himself, for the other, for a chance to at least once experience the happiness that they both deserved but could never indulge. Rather he wonders, accomplished and strikingly incomplete, whether or not his existence means anything to the one he cares for.</p><p>Like this, sleepless nights pass, thousands of miles away at times but under the same stars, where would be lovers try to find solace in whispered wishes and dying dreams.</p><p>Leopika, yaoi (and some het). Please read tags as warnings!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crux: Leorio

**Author's Note:**

  * For [leopika fan](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=leopika+fan).



> Hello everybody! I promised that I would be back for the Hunter X Hunter Big Bang, so here I am! This fic is Leopika, and can be seen as a direct prequel to Uncertainty if one chooses, however it is NOT necessary to read that in order to understand this. Chapters mirror each other (like in What You Don't See). Art for this fic was done by echolein and alicatsartcorner on tumblr: links are on my tumblr!!!
> 
> I'm also gifting this to **leopika fan** : you are a beacon of light when I feel unloved, and I wouldn't want anyone else to have this story!
> 
>  **On Comments** : Please be respectful in your comments; this time I will not tolerate any negativity. If you do not like what you're reading, do not read it. If you do not like my characterization, do not read it. I welcome input that is constructive and about the writing itself, but remember that this is fanfiction and I am allowed to take whatever liberties I wish with it. Also, please remember that fanfiction is not an entitlement; I do this for fun, so please try not to ruin that for me. _(If you're confused about why I feel the need to state this, please see my note of Indefinite Haitus on The Uncertainty of Breath)_

He can pinpoint the moment it happened, the moment when the boy inside him died.

In truth, it hadn't been when he'd learned of his clan's death, nor when he put them into the ground. That had been traumatizing, yes, heartbreaking and partially maddening by all means, but it had not killed him. When they'd first met, Kurapika had been very much alive - truly enraged at the horrors of his past - but there had been more to him than that. He'd been still, at least somewhat, a child at heart. He'd still held wonder for the world, for parts of it: if not for what he already knew (which was much, but not as much as he pretended) then for what he still had yet to learn. He'd been dynamic then, more of a person than the average person, a treasure of healthy personality to go alongside his drive.

He can pinpoint when that boy died, had his life forcibly choked out of him until his eyes faded to milky clouds. He'd seen it - not the exact moment - but the moments just after. He'd watched as the other pretended to be alive, pretended to be relieved at the news that the Troupe was dead, pretended just to _be_. He'd watched, and not knowing how to turn back time and stop it from happening, he'd quietly walked away from him.

Or, not so quietly.

The confrontation had happened before his death in a contrived effort to prevent it, but he'd not been as sure as he was of what its outcome would be then. He'd _known_ , no one who had overheard the shouts and saw the blond after could rightly attest otherwise, but he hadn't been entirely aware of the consequences of letting it happen. Maybe he had. Maybe it was hope that had kept him from physically stopping the other, hope that they could both get what they wanted if he didn't stand in his way.

Obviously, that was impossible. A person didn't just come back from those kinds of things.

There was no doubt in his mind that Uvogin was a waste of human life. The man deserved to die. He deserved to rot in one of the more creative hells that he'd heard of throughout his travels - perhaps the one where swords rained down upon the inhabitants with every breath and were unavoidable, despite aptitude for fighting. Leorio could think of a thousand variations on a fitting punishment, none quite horrid enough, but that didn't mean he approved of the way he died. Far from it. If anything, Leorio mourned the death of Uvogin similarly to the way he'd mourn the death of a friend, because that day he'd lost one.  
That day, Kurapika came back different.

He knew that the other hadn't wanted to do it, despite what he had said, all harsh, biting words. He knew that Uvogin had figured that out in all likelihood, had probably forced his hand in the matter as a final gesture of victory. If anything, a killer knew another killer by the look on his eye, and Kurapika hadn't been that. He hadn't been until Uvogin made him one. That, if anything, meant Kurapika had lost.

They'd argued over it before he left. Kurapika had been animate about his conviction not to kill Uvo unless it was the only option, but equally as committed to the idea if he had no other choice. As his friend, that's what had scared him: the idea that Kurapika would take this on alone and still feel as if he was being forced. No one was making him do it, no one was stepping down from their role as executioner without other options. He'd been vehement about going alone - it was, after all, his vendetta and no other's. It was his cross to bear, his punishment to take. He'd not wanted to share it, and in doing so had sacrificed his soul.  
Leorio had begged him not to go. He'd pleaded, on the verge of tears, and Kurapika had turned his back on him.

And, of course, he'd come back wrong.

Thinking back on it, Leorio wondered if there was anything he could've done to stop it. Even if he had kept Kurapika from going, would that mean he'd have kept him from killing Uvogin entirely? Would he have been able to keep Kurapika's insatiable need for blood vengeance when the next opportunity arose? Would he, in forestalling the end of one Troupe member, be speeding up the next's? How would this simple act of saving the life of his beloved friend alter the course of his life?

He likes to think - no, he doesn't like to; even in the best of cases it was not something he enjoyed having to debate about - that if he had prevented it, Kurapika would still be the boy he had met years ago. He'd still sit and read when given the option instead of training insanely, he'd still joke with nonchalance instead of replacing humor with stratagems. He'd still have hope for a future in which happiness was an option, because it had never entirely been lost.  
Given the chance, he'd choose this moment over all of the others to go back to and try to prevent. Over of everything. Over _**Pietro**_.

He doesn't think about that either. He just doesn't want to think.

At times like these, Leorio finds himself reaching for his phone. He never calls, not anymore, but he indulges the option for a bit. Eventually, he'll put the phone down in favor of something else, knowing Kurapika would never pick up anyway. Instead, he goes over to his bookshelf and picks up a paperback, an old, worn novel. He remembers how the blond had commented on it during their time in Trick Tower and tries to smile fondly, but fails, the curvature of his mouth unable to change its downward trajectory. He sits down, unhappy in his reality that is, and turns to the last dog-eared page to continue where he left off last time he'd come across the thought of Kurapika as the boy he used to be.

He reads, and misses the boy that was.


	2. The Crux: Kurapika

_Come back to me, Kurapika._

He wakes with a start, eyes wide alert, but doesn't move. He know's there's no point - it's not the first time he's had the dream and he doubts that he'll be rid of it so easily. He'll sooner forget the feeling of mud between his toes as he'd buried the decaying shells that had once housed his people - it isn't so far fetched, as he's forgetting other things about those formative years of his life - than he will this dream. Movement would only signal to the outside world that he's shaken by it, and if there is anything he wishes to prove to himself it is that he is not.

The nightmares were one thing; he'd learned how to deal with them in what seemed like another lifetime. They were easier even- nightmares served the distinct purpose of showing him where his weaknesses lay, and if he'd learned anything from Mizuken, it was how to harness those faults into his greatest weapons. Dreams, though - hallowed mirrors of self deprived desire and childish hopefulness - they would be the death of him.

Kurapika is not above dreaming, above the "could have beens." Though he wishes it were not so, he, like the rest of humanity, is haunted by them.

This was one of those dreams, part longing, part memory. The salacity is something that will plague him, yes, but not like the memory does. It's from the memory that he derives his longing, his subconscious digging into words that have left him questioning, left him to wonder what he's made of his existence.

He's different from when they first met. He likes to think of himself as better, stronger, but that's fallacy. He is no _better_ than someone who has not known his loss, no _stronger_ than those without his mission. The only thing he is better at, perhaps, is in lying to himself. It's not only him who knows this - that would be far too simple.

He doesn't think about Leorio calling him on his falsities, because then he'd have to think about Leorio.

But that's the crux of it after all, isn't it? - the older man telling him what he doesn't want to hear, dream or memory or what have you. It's never in the form of an "I told you so" but it feels like it is; Leorio has a way of going from immensely grateful about seeing the blond again to harsh and judgmental. Kurapika's being unfair in this assessment and amends it; Leorio is never harsh without reason. It only feels that way, because it's _Leorio_.

Needless to say, or perhaps it isn't - perhaps up until now he's really believed differently - their last encounter was less than pleasant. Seeing the other was neither something he had planned nor something he was sure he knew how to approach; it had been so long since the last time they'd been together. It also wasn't something he'd had much choice in - happenstance hadn't been on his side that day. It was only by coincidence that the man he'd run into was Leorio.

His first instinct had been to be surprised, his second to curse himself for not being more aware of the possibility of the encounter. Leorio had been dumbstruck upon the sight of him, his emotions passing over his face as he moved from shocked to jovial. He'd dropped everything he was doing right there in favor of catching up with the blond, and Kurapika had been whisked away, too unsure of his own feelings on the matter to fight it. Not just then, anyway.

The uncertainty did not last long. Kurapika had been more than happy to hear about his old friend's adventures, his studies, his run in with fellow Hunters. It had been an easy break from his current lifestyle - all of the running and hiding and hunting after hours in the dark - one he'd much needed if he was being honest with himself. Kurapika listened, neatly evading answering the other's questions about his own situation, and had wondered how long it had been since he'd been so relaxed. He can't remember, thinking back now.

It was one question that did it, a short, unassuming sort of thing. Leorio had looked at him curiously as he came up with yet another non-answer, smiling softly as he did. It had taken a moment for the older one's face to fall, but when it did Kurapika realized that he'd been holding that look back since the very beginning.

_You've changed so much since we first met._

Kurapika doesn't think he'd let it show, but he hadn't expected to hear that.

Leorio's face had changed shape, something remorseful and hurt in it's lines all of a sudden. He'd said - and Kurapika could hear that it pained him, though that didn't matter when it had pained him too - that he hated how much colder he'd become, more detached. The blond had argued with him; hadn't he always been cold? Hadn't he always been in mourning, since the day they first met? Had not their first discoveries about each other been a sharing of goals, an explanation of his pain? And Leorio had agreed, but it came with it's conditions. Yes, he'd said, Kurapika had always been in pain. But by the same token, he'd also had a reason to live. He couldn't see it anymore, he'd lamented, a truly worried tone coming over his hushed voice, reflected in the back of his eyes.

He'd not believed what he was hearing, standing up to leave when Leorio had taken him by the arm. It wasn't true - obviously he had purpose. He had goals, he had ambitions, but that wasn't enough to convince him. Leorio asks him when the last time he saw a spider was, and though he knows he has, Kurapika couldn't answer. The other had begged him to see how he wasn't the same, to at least consider that before walking away.

_You're not a machine, Kurapika. You were never meant to be._

He know's what Leorio had meant - the rage is mutable now, like a switch, something he's learned to turn on and off to suit his needs. He knows that's how it has to be in order for him to achieve his goal - the calm he has now is what he'd been missing all those years ago, standing in his way of being a better hunter. It isn't until later, in the safety of his solitude that he wonders if all of his emotions are subject to unconscious reduction, the constant swirl of feeling he'd experienced during the rush of the Hunter's exam a long past memory.

Leorio wasn't done with him after a single blow - there's more that he's been keeping inside, Kurapika knows, more than he'd probably let himself say. It's the first time he'd heard it from the other, though he can tell it's been on his mind for some time, when he'd pointed out how his goal had become a bastardization of justice. It's meaningless, Leorio had exclaimed, if he no longer remained the same because of it. Kurapika had contended that there was no way he could have been the same after what had been done, but Leorio's conviction had been firm.

_Do you ever dare think of how your family would suffer if they knew what you'd become - what you've done in their names?_ Leorio had bit back anguished tears. _If your anger is so controllable, it should not be used as a means for killing!_

Leorio doesn't understand, even when he understands so much.

Kurapika had looked at him, face devoid of emotion, before melting into the backdrop. It had been a cheap trick, using Nen to escape when the other still had so much to learn, but he doesn't regret it. There's little he does regret, and those are the things serving as a foundation for the transgressions Leorio's called him out on.

And Leorio doesn't even know the half of it.

It's been days, weeks, months since then. It may even be years, he can't even commit to memory which city he'd been in or on which job. The dream changes those details every time, but the conversation remains mostly the same. There are few edits to be made when the original had been so affecting to begin with, but what his mind does add is what disturbs him the most.

_Come back to me, Kurapika._

The blond lays in bed, unmoving, and remembers how overwhelmed Leorio had become in confronting him. He closes his eyes, and tries to conceive of a feeling so intense, so organic. He cannot.


	3. Hero: Kurapika

Sometimes, very rarely, but sometimes, Kurapika wishes that Leorio had forced him away from it all.

He can't bring himself to think that he'd have gone willingly in most cases. No, instead he comes up with methods of extreme coercion, anything from trickery all the way to kidnapping, but the result is variably the same. In each case he'd have missed his window to participate in Nostrade's little army of bodyguards, he'd have lost out on the chance to bid on the eyes, he'd have neatly avoided his run in with the Troupe. He'd tell himself it was nothing he was allowed to be upset over, as in this reality he'd have no knowledge of what he'd missed out on and therefore couldn't mourn it, focusing instead on what he'd have experienced instead.

There was one scenario he liked in particular, one that didn't involve the taller one clonking him over the head with a hotel lamp and dragging him out of the room they'd shared before they went their separate ways, preventing that from actually happening. Instead, in his mind, Leorio had sat him down and talked to him. That was it, a simple conversation, all the difference made by the content. He didn't know why he thought that in this situation he would have agreed, but he'd always wondered what he'd do if he could go back, and if Leorio had made him the offer.

They'd be sitting in their room, or somewhere similarly private - it wasn't of deep importance - when Leorio would break his concentration on packing to speak to him. He'd be nervous (he could always tell when Leorio was nervous, as he had a bad habit of not being able to sit still before he confronted whatever was on his mind) but that wouldn't stop him from sitting across from the younger one and trying his best to maintain eye contact. He'd tell him that he needed to go and study, that becoming a doctor was something he absolutely had to do, but that he didn't want to leave the other. In Kurapika's dreamlike fantasy, he'd ask the blond to come with him, to search for the eyes of his people while doing something they could be proud of like getting an education. He'd tell him that if he put his quest on hold for just a few years, he'd join him once he'd passed his qualifications. Finally, Leorio would take him by the hands and say that their time for growing together wasn't over, and that he'd do everything within his power to help Kurapika if he'd give him the chance to become more capable.

And, of course, Kurapika would be skeptical. Kurapika would deny wanting the same things out of life that Leorio did, but Leorio would be vehement in his disagreement. He'd say that they did want the same things, that Kurapika just had a few more priorities lined up than he did. He'd argue that just because he was on a mission for vengeance didn't mean that he couldn't have a life while he became better suited for it, like he had during the Exam they'd just finished. He'd beg the other to do something for his own personal happiness, for the theoretical happiness of his parents and teachers, for his own good rather than for his brokenness. And he'd remind him that he wasn't asking him to give anything up. All he had to do was wait, just a little bit, while they both became stronger.

Something about the way he'd say it would convince him and he'd agree; Kurapika knows he would even though all of the evidence points to otherwise. He knows, deep within him, that something in the person he was back then would have seriously considered it at the very least, that the person he used to be would have been able to see merit in the other's words rather than the roadblock he'd envision if asked now. He also knows that the very fact he's thinking about it means that that's not entirely true; there's still a part of him that emphatically and completely wants to run away from it all with the other's hand in his, but there's too much at stake. Not now, not when he's worked his way up from the bottom, not when he's taken the literal hardest path to get where he is, and somehow succeeded. If anything, it's his success that's to blame for his current obstinacy.

But he doesn't want to think about that, not when he's in the middle of his fantasy - or his alternate reality as he likes to think of it. In that world, there was nothing standing in the way when Leorio dragged him from his vengeance for a while, flashing their Hunter's licences at a top university (and Kurapika would have pretended not to know that it hadn't been his first choice, that he'd opted for a university with the most challenging and diverse options in curriculum so that it would appeal to both of them equally). He'd been more than happy, pleasantly surprised even, when he'd been handed the keys to an apartment on campus, _their_ apartment, knowing that Leorio had made all the arrangements. The scruffier one had offered, of course, to change things if Kurapika had wanted something different, but he hadn't and he knew that it had been no more than courtesy anyway - Leorio didn't want him out of his sight more than he could help it. Kurapika hadn't wanted to be out of it either, and so they'd moved on to sleeping arrangements and menial arguments about decoration and debating which was the best color for their kitchen pots and pans. They'd share a bedroom, the only room separate from the rest of the living space, despite Leorio's urging that he could have it. Just like that, they'd pass the next few years, Kurapika reading on Leorio's bed while the latter banged his head against his desk from the frustration of memorizing anatomical terms, Leorio causing Kurapika to scream as he walked through the entire apartment naked _yet again_ after a steamy shower, the both of them reporting back to each other at the end of an exam to see who got the higher score and the loser grumbling as that meant it was his turn to cook for the week.

At the end of it all they'd graduate with honors, Leorio in particular having competed all of his qualifications in the medical field in addition to his schooling, choosing a trusted friend to hold onto their paper degrees until they returned, which they promised they someday would. Better men, stronger allies, they'd make their way into the world lifetimes more prepared to seek out what had been taken from the Kurta, and doing it together.

He snaps out of the dream, not that it is really, since he's wide awake. The entire scenario's passed in the matter of an hour, his eyes having not left the ceiling in the duration. There's a musky smell in the air, like sweat and heat trapped underground, but the room is cool. The room is barely a _room_ , more like four solid rock walls with a light fixture (and just how did they tunnel all that wiring through so much stone anyway?) and the cot he lies on. He doesn't want to be there, doesn't want any of it, but finds himself listening to the steady drip of a pipe leak anyway.

He's found the eyes of his people, he tells himself in an effort to justify his settings around him, most of them, anyway. He's on his way to the rest - it's only a matter of time, really. There's no means of telling if he'd have gotten as far as he has if anything were different. He tries to count his failures among the reasons for his success. He tries to see how pushing Leorio away was for the best.

He rolls over onto his side, facing the way, and tries to relearn how to subjugate desire.


	4. Hero: Leorio

Far too often to pass it off as vagary, Leorio wishes he'd fallen in love with Kurapika sooner.

He has difficulty getting upset with himself over such a thing for two reasons: firstly, had he fallen any sooner it would have been for reasons different than the ones which he did end up falling, which he holds dear to his heart; secondly, had he fallen in love with him any sooner, well, he'd have still _fallen_ \- which was the crux of the problem to be sure.

Even so, he can't bring himself to regret that.

Love hadn't been immediate for Leorio, it had taken time to seed and sprout, albeit quickly once the initial affirmations of affection were in order. What had taken longer than the actual love was the realization of it, the recognition. Leorio had seen his affection as a deep bond of friendship, only noticing the undertones of a more wholly formed desire much, much later.

He'd managed to get most of the way through the Hunter Exam without noticing the difference in his feelings between Kurapika and the others. The first real sign had come after the mishaps of Trick Tower, which Leorio sometimes struggles to believe they had actually made it through, during their short break at the island hotel. The treasure hunt had been arguably his favorite part of the exam, the pure fun of it in the very beginning setting it aside from the rest. Kurapika, as Leorio would come to find was his usual self, seemed to know the names of each of the artifacts that made their way to the surface, spouting them off one after another. Leorio hadn’t been as impressed as he should’ve been until later on, matching the blond’s awe at the objects with his amazement at the boy.

Despite the immense amusement he got from watching the rest of the examinees run around and seek out alternative arrangements, even he’d had the presence of mind to known that something was bothering Kurapika, and what that something was.

This is where the contrition begins to seep in, a cold gray scale over what was meant to be a warm memory. He’s not sure whether his actions had been a result of not knowing the blond well enough or were what caused them to eventually become closer. Either way, he can’t help but wonder how things would have happened if he’d been firmer in stating his beliefs, if he’d been less accepting of the other’s. That wasn’t how it had happened, though, Leorio giving the Kurta a gentle push, earning the story of his people’s mystery.

Kurapika had opened up to him that night, sharing details of his past, and more importantly, his feelings about it. Leorio is immensely grateful for that candid moment – those that followed were few and far between.

Leorio also remembers how he lay in bed that night, something twisting in his gut that he’d never felt before, searching for sleep. He’d shaken it off then, not letting himself think deeply about their earlier encounter and his joking words, not questioning his desire to just reach out and touch the other. Instead, he chose to think it was pity. He was happier that way, than wondering if it was love.

Leorio knows that if he'd come to the realization sooner, if he'd had any of the foresight to see himself where he is now, things would be different. Maybe then Yorkshin wouldn’t have meant what it had for both of them.

Maybe then Kurapika would have loved him back.

He stops right there. He will not entertain that thought, not for a second.

The most he’s willing to hope for – hope in the sense that if time travel turns out to exist, he’ll have planned his route into the past – is that he’d have pushed harder, been harsher, given Kurapika less chances to hurt himself. That’s all Leorio really wants, for Kurapika to be happy. Of course, in the dreams he pretends not to have, he imagines an outcome where Kurapika had prioritized his own life over those lost to the Troupe. In some rare others, he dreams of having accompanied him, journeying together so that his goal to find the eyes may have been completed, while Leorio worked on subsiding his need to kill the Phantom Troupe.

Leorio wonders how he’d have reacted if Kurapika had asked him to hold off on his own dreams to come with him. He likes to think that he’d have agreed without hesitation – knowing what he does now he would. He’s not sure it would have occurred that way – he knows the moment when he realized love came after they’d initially parted – but he has faith in his ability to read the other enough to know that if he’d asked, it had been more important than the immediacy of his goals. Becoming a doctor could wait, he thinks now, trying not to dwell on the lives that he's touched who might not have gotten the care they'd needed had someone else been looking after them. After all, he hasn't cured any grand disease. He's still working on making treatment more accessible to less privileged parts of the world, and that's something that more worldly knowledge certainly couldn't have hurt.

Leorio can honestly say he doesn't know what would have happened in the long run, where he would be now, if he'd fallen in love with him sooner. He doesn't pretend to have the answers - it's easier not to try to convince himself he's done the right or wrong thing, only what was most viable at the time. He may dream differently, but ultimately he knows that dreams are just that, and brushes them aside upon waking.

Sometimes, he wishes Kurapika had chosen him instead.


	5. Deaths: Leorio

The last thing Leorio remembers is a bright light moving over his eyes, the sounds of sirens in the background, and some sort of fuzzy voice telling him not to go back to sleep. He feels guilty for not listening, but he'd been so damn _tired_. Tired, and wet from his chest downward.

Leorio wakes with a start, only to find himself at the hospital. It isn't his shift, not that he can remember. He's having trouble moving, looking around only to realize that he's lying down, and is on the wrong side of an ER curtain. There's an IV running into his left arm, about ten different machines hooked up to him one way or another, and the distinct smell of death floating from somewhere that he thinks might be him.

To his own impressed shock, he remembers.

The night before had been long, those doing their residency called back again after normal shifts because of an influx of gang related injuries pouring in. Leorio was never one to mind the hours and seeming endlessness of sickness that passed through the hospital doors, taking each opportunity to work on a person as an individually meaningful experience and occasion to learn. He'd been let off in the early hours of the morning, meeting a friend and fellow ER worker in the locker room and heading out together. The city he'd chosen to live in was one of nightlife and excess - a perfect place for someone looking for experience in a field at any given time of day. Leorio had always preferred those sorts of cities to the old world ones like he'd grown up in, too full of memories embedded in every piece of brick and mortar, too tied up in family histories and grudges. With his preference came certain privileges, like the ability to grab a beer with a coworker at four thirty in the morning without it seeming at all odd, one of hundreds of bars to be found between the hospital and either of their apartments (though Leorio lived strikingly close by to his place of employment). They'd shared a drink and taken one for the road, a common practice of the late-late night crowd, as they walked each other home.

Though the city had it's perks, it also had it's problems. One being something Leorio would experience firsthand.

His friend had stopped their journey to make a call from a nearby payphone - he'd left his mobile on for the entire duration of the three shifts he had covered, the device dying just as he'd been sent home. He'd been so tired when they'd hit the bar that he'd completely forgot to contact his girlfriend, who no doubt had been waiting up for him and would be incredibly nervous about his failure to return. The call would be quick, he'd said, wanting to get it done before hopping on an underground train to get across town to where he lived. Leorio hadn't minded, wanting to finish his drink before reaching home anyway, which was only a block from where they were.

He'd heard noises that should have been more familiar to him with his background, but the exhaustion and slight inebriation weren't doing anything for his awareness. It had been curiosity, and a slight hint of worry, to lead him down the side street that the sound had come from, the sight meeting him sobering.

Three men were leaned over a fourth, who was whimpering on the ground. Leorio had almost shouted to ask if they were alright, before the reality of the situation hit him.

The rest happened almost too quickly for thought. The man closest to Leorio lunged at him, something concealed in his hand, and the rest followed. He managed to dodge what turned out to be a knife, choosing to take a blow to the back instead as he avoided damage to his vital points

_They're not Hunters_ , he'd thought, having enough presence of mind to know that the distinction was important. _The force of my Nen would kill them._

Leorio, as it turned out, would rather die than kill someone less capable than him of defending themself. 

__In his state, three against one had not been good odds. Leorio had been lucky; he'd managed to knock out one of the three men without causing any serious, long term damage to him. The second he'd succeeded in breaking his leg, but the third had been too much. Leorio had only managed to get a single hit in before something bit into his belly - once, twice, a third time - and there was nothing more to do. It had been a mercy that he'd cried out and been heard, his friend rounding the corner as the culprit ran off, his accomplice trying but failing to follow behind._ _

__Leorio can remember falling, quite clearly actually. He remembers pulling the knife from his own flesh - he knows he's not supposed to, it will only speed up the bleeding - the clang it made as it hit the concrete. He remembers his friend searching his coat pockets and finding his phone, barely alive (which is why he'd not offered it in the first place) and making a call, cursing as it died halfway through. He remembers movement behind him - there's three other people with him, weren't there - and becoming very tired in one quick moment._ _

__And then he's awake, propped up by pillows, listening to the sounds he'd only just escaped from his shift before. Turns out he won't be working the night shift again anytime soon._ _

__The curtain is pulled back; the friend that saved his life blinking in surprise to see him awake, let alone alive. He yelps as he's enveloped in an uncommon hug, the man crying happily over the success that was his emergency surgery. Leorio isn't even aware that he's had surgery; it's all news to him. Really, he's just as shocked to be alive._ _

__Some sort of drugs must be kicking in; he's falling asleep again. The thought scares him; last time he fell asleep he was fairly certain it was death. He knows that it's normal, in his condition, but that doesn't help as he tries to fight it. Being taken care of like this is completely unfamiliar to him, and he doesn't know these people well enough to want to be unconscious around them, however good people they may be._ _

__He dreams, all mixed up as painkillers make dreaming if you're not lucky enough to sleep without them, about the people he wishes were at his bedside. He wakes up to find them not there. He recovers - weeks of physical rehabilitation, living in the hospital, another surgery once he's strong enough - without them ever showing up._ _

__He doesn't call Kurapika. He wouldn't answer, anyway._ _


	6. Deaths: Kurapika

He isn't all there when it happens, just a faint echo of the person he should be. He wonders if most deaths are like this, separating his sense of current being from his full fledged identity, a moment in time tearing him away from familiarity. There's a jolt; his body is moving, fighting in a last ditch effort to survive, but he can't feel it. It's almost like sleep, he wants to say, almost like the moments between dreaming and waking. He can't even feel the burning in his lungs anymore as water floods his inside, the same burning that just seconds ago had him in excruciating agony.

Kurapika drowns, and what comes to mind is Leorio.

He can't seem to be bothered by the fact that he's dying: it is clear that's what's happening. There are more important things to do than worry over the inevitable, he tells himself in a hazy sort of reprimand, like what could have been. He usually avoids thoughts of that nature like the plague but now, outside of time, it's all he can seem to think of.

Without much clarity as to where the idea stems from, he wishes he was more like Leorio. 

It's a strange sort of thought, not one that he's considered before. After all, when they'd first met he'd had less than pleasant things to say about the man. It wasn't long before he'd realized that his callousness was simply a way of preserving the privacy surrounding his real goal, his own method of protecting himself from the possible reality of failure. Kurapika knows he's already similar to him in that respect, but who isn't? Who doesn't lie to themselves, he wonders as his physical senses become tertiary parts of his being, in order to survive? It's human nature, he's convinced.

Those aren't the parts of the doctor - yes, he's a doctor now - that Kurapika envies. Instead, he envies his honesty, his ability to always express what he's feeling without pretense. Leorio can lie, he knows that, but he doesn't feel the need to in order to communicate his sadness, or more importantly, his happiness. 

Kurapika envies that too - happiness. Success. He can't imagine a world in which he can share those things with the other, but then again he defines them very, very differently.

_Defined_. He corrects himself. _I'll have to use the past tense once I'm dead._

He's not in enough of a lucid state to see the flaw in his own logic - he's turned his focus to the subject of death. Leorio had experienced death firsthand; closer, even, than Kurapika had. The blond had not been at his people's sides when they were slain but Leorio had been right in the center of it all, holding the hand of his most important person as his life was stolen from him. He'd never asked about what had happened after that - he'd not found out about it because Leorio had wanted _him_ specifically to know; instead it had been dictated by necessity. He can only imagine that Leorio knew what it was like to bury a loved one. 

Perhaps, he knew more than he'd always given him credit for.

Even at that, the way Leorio had dealt with facing death head on had been entirely different from Kurapika, though equally as valid, the blond thinks. He's not going to question his own motives in the last moments of his life, he's good at doing that. Leorio, though, has always had an ability to turn his experience with death into an attempt to extend life. Kurapika cannot imagine doing the same; after all, he's one of the greatest proponents of the duality of existence. When death is dealt, Kurapika takes it into his own hands to even the deficit, stealing the breath from those who have already done the same. He's smart and knows it, but Kurapika would never have chosen the path Leorio had. Until he'd met the other man, he'd not even thought of it as an option.

Right about now, he wishes he'd become a doctor instead of a mercenary.

More than that, though, he wishes that if his death were not natural, if his death is something that _another person_ is directly responsible for, that it would have been Leorio to kill him. There's nothing more fitting, in his opinion, though he knows how much it would hurt Leorio to end his life. Still, given the choice he's who he'd want doing it, _his_ hands wrapping around his throat and holding him under water as he kicks and screams out his last bit of air and slowly stops moving.

Oh. He isn't moving anymore.

Leorio would have to be the one because Leorio is the only one he trusts. Leorio is the only one he can stand to touch. Leorio is the only one he's hurt, repeatedly, without mercy, for no other reason than for caring. Leorio has offered him love, pure, unadulterated love, through their longstanding friendship and Kurapika has purposefully spat in his face because of it.

If anyone deserves to kill him, it's Leorio.

There's a hand, large and strong, pulling at him. It's, to the blond's surprise, not wrapped around his neck. He has no sense of the change in his surroundings, just the ambient buzz of something familiar around him. There's something heavy, growing larger, and then it hits - something is slamming on his chest and his insides are on fire and he has a body - a physical body - and he can't breathe - help, please - he's blind and suffocating

All at once he's coughing, water and algae and blood coming up together and spewing to the side as he struggles to monopolize the oxygen around him. There's no light as he heaves but his eyes are open - something must have collided with the back of his head, the damage interfering with his sight. He's awake, just barely, when someone lifts him in strong arms - a teacher? master? lover? he feels familiar but not like home - and they're gone, disappearing from that place and that mission, that near brush with death.

Kurapika is barely alive. He's been that way since before drowning.

He doesn't tell Leorio.


	7. Sex and Self Hate: Kurapika

He pretends not to know why he did it; he's familiar with lying to himself like this. It isn't _really_ a lie he tells himself - guilty of it again- if he can avoid the answer by not considering it. So he doesn't consider it and pretends not to know, pretends that the day had been any other day and that the night had been uneventful.

But that's a lie, too.

It had been a bad day, as simple as that. Not that all of his days were good, not even most of them could be by any normal person's judgment considered _alright_ even, but that one had been undeniably bad. Kurapika's delineation of bad usually had to do with his perception of failure, and though this had not been the kind of mistake that ended up with blood smeared across the floor, it had not been _good_ either.

He hadn't been in the mood for criticism when he'd received it, and from an old friend no less. Senritsu had only heard the sound of his voice over the air waves to know exactly what was wrong and she'd snapped, choosing to give him a lesson in self care and discipline. It had been her mistake to do so over the phone - she'd only gotten started (and would have ended on a much gentler note at that) but he'd heard enough and ended the call faster than she could say his name.   
The mistake had not been grave, it had not ended in death, and he did not need unsolicited advice on the matter. Why he even called, he did not know.

Or so he says.

It doesn't really matter - either way, his day ended as it did and he can't deny his actions, though he may toy with the idea of wanting to forget them. He doesn't _really_ \- want to forget that is - but that doesn't make it a positive experience. All it makes it is a point on his personal timeline, one to think back on if the need ever arises (which he thinks it won't) and one to ignore if it suits him better. He'll probably do the latter, but not just yet.

The day had been bad, the blond had been irritated, and he had gone out. Usually in the case of extreme frustration like he was experiencing at the time he'd lock himself away to train or meditate, anything that would help him regain his center and focus on his overall goal. This, though, had been different. This had been something that exercises and concentration couldn't ward away, and it had been building for quite some time.

He'd worn his suit out, not really caring that he'd been in it all day and that the combination of the sun and his physical exertions had left him feeling somewhat less than freshly pressed. His hair, even, was somewhat disheveled from an earlier tousle but it didn't seem to matter at the time; he'd wanted what he'd wanted and being in an untidy state wasn't about to stop him. Not much did, when he was as determined as he was then.

The club had been a point of interest in his mission that turned out to be a bust by all appearances; the lead he'd had taking him there was less than reliable as the other three places he'd visited had been devoid of anything resembling a clue. He only ended up there because the address had been on the forefront of his mind, as any similar kind of establishment could have probably suited his needs. The night was halfway over, less than ideal for scouting out hidden gems of useful information, but he didn't much care. He was only there for the drinks, anyway. That's what he told himself, anyway.

The old him would have laughed at himself for being such a cliche, but not even an ounce of the current him gives a damn.

He was in and at the bar before anyone noticed a movement, hailing the bartender and ordering something strong and dark. The whole place teemed with life, more so in the room further down that held the dance floor. The establishment was neatly divided in two, the front section a place for drinks and more reserved conversation - though by the looks of it it was more of a place for after hours business dealings and somewhat more private pre-coital rituals than in the second half. There were two semi walls cutting the room in half, jutting out for a few feet and then letting some supporting columns do the job, leaving the floor plan relatively open. Kurapika could see most of the dance floor from his spot on the far side of the bar, nothing particularly special about it. If anything, the whole situation had left him feeling out of place. Before he'd given himself the opportunity to deeply inquest on his actions he'd downed what was in his glass and moved on, making his way into the hustle and bustle for a closer look.

There were eyes on him, he'd felt it the moment he'd passed the middle columns. The pair belonged to another young man: dark hair, dark eyes, about the same in height as him, with a slender build. Figures drifted in between them, a swirl of colorful movement mixing with the thumping of beat-driven music. They'd made eye contact but Kurapika didn't stop wandering, working his way in a careful arc from one side of the dance floor to the other until he'd made his way to the opposite end of the bar. _Athlete, but not by trade_ , he'd profiled, creating a checklist of attributes in his mind. _Approximately twenty-two, perhaps give a year or so. Seeking something unknown to him as of now_.

Though he didn't quite let the thought take form, Kurapika knows he'd wanted to be that something.

Kurapika is aware that he's attractive - at least he is now. Back then, well, he had some sort of idea that others were attracted to him. Dealing with said attraction was something he'd done mostly through feigning ignorance and using his heightened intelligence as a deterrent, never acknowledging someone's feelings unless they were blatantly forced on him. He'd had a bad habit of blushing at even the worst of invitations as a younger teenager, but that didn't seem to be an issue anymore. When the urge had overtaken him, it had come with the palpable need to see desire in another's eyes. He'd seen it then, and this time his choice to ignore it had been more strategic then anything else.

He'd been ordering another drink when he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"You," he'd heard spoken carefully, from someone far too intelligent to be looking for a meaningful partnership in a place like that. "You and I don't belong here."

Kurapika had been downright captivated by how dark the young man's irises were, close to the color of tar. Despite not knowing each other, Kurapika felt as if this had the potential to be one of fate's meetings. He'd gazed unblinkingly into the other's eyes and in them his own wants were reflected. _Don't ask me_ , the stranger's look said, burning yet strangely pleading, _don't try to find out my story, and I won't ask yours. Don't think too deeply - you know we're both guilty of that. Don't say no because you are better than this - you are not. I am not. We are one and the same, you and I_.

Kurapika had heard every word.

There was a part of him (mainly the dead part, but that isn't something he admits to either) that mourned what was being wasted in such an encounter. There's no doubt in his mind, even now, that the two of them could have had some sort of future together if they'd given it a chance. The stranger had been clever and polished, shadows draped heavily over his heart in a way that only someone with a matching fabric of their own could identify, looking for the same escape that he'd been seeking. Kurapika knows he's not capable of loving someone the way they deserve to be loved, and he thinks that the young man probably wasn't either. They'd have made an interesting pair, even if only to challenge each other's lies, even if only for a while.

He knows all of this, but still decided to kiss him.

It was by no means pretty, and certainly not practiced, but it got the job done. Kurapika remembers the initial shock of feeling someone's hand in his hair, grabbing roughly, but pulling him closer instead of ripping him back. He'd not bothered being disturbed by the action, instead pouring all of his heat and desperation into that one kiss while hoping it would be enough to get the other back to his room. Drink forgotten, the young man had growled his request to depart into the blond's ear and Kurapika had led him by the hand out the door.

The journey back was messy- a mix of running and stopping for violent assaults on each other. Kurapika had almost gotten turned around at one point after nearly losing all control in a side street, the need overwhelming as kissing advanced to fully clothed thrusting against each other's arousal. They bit and scratched at each other, impatient while clothes still hung off their bodies, barely lasting before Kurapika's keys scraped the hole below his doorknob.

What came between their entry and the removal of the blond's shirt is a fuzzy memory - lots of tripping over each other and fighting for the lead. Kurapika remembers the moment the stranger pushed him onto the mattress and stripped off his own shirt vividly - that's the first flash of something wrong. 

He'd tried to distract himself as the image in front of him overlaid with the one in his mind, not waiting until the article had made it's way over the young man's head before moving to lick a line up his exposed chest. In truth it had shaken him, the thought sinking in even as he'd worked the skin in front of him. _No_ , he'd berated himself, trying to drown out his subconscious with the salt on his tongue, _that is not for consideration_.

An interruption in the form of hips jutting out against his as his lap was straddled cut him off, the joining of mouths keeping him from losing focus. Though he'd never known another's touch like this, Kurapika's instincts were good - good enough to tell him exactly where to put his hands on the other's rear and neck when he flipped him, reversing their positions as the man landed on his back. He'd handled his belt like an expert, slipping it through the loops of his pants one by one at an agonizing pace, drinking in the sight in front of him. Vendetta aside, as the blond's hand slipped down to tease the base of his own flesh, he hadn't remembered wanting anything more in his life.

That is, until he did.

There it was again, that whisper that crept up on him from behind, wrapping it's arms around him in a sweet, slow seduction. It was easier then, without the lights surrounding the bar and the street lamps denoting the difference, to fall into the illusion as it weighed down on him, persistent in it's temptation. Warning flags sprang up in tandem with the heat in his groin, a voice he should have recognized hiding in the back of his mind pleading with him to vanish before it went any farther. Impossible; the Kurta has never been one to do anything halfway. In a strained effort to break himself from the recurring phantasm, Kurapika had bent over his counterpart, pulled his trousers down to his knees, and took him in his mouth. It didn't last long; the flavor, the feel, they weren't what he was after. Kurapika had needed something newer, something further from his usual self, if he'd any hopes of coming out of this unscathed. 

A hand clutching at gold hair moved downwards, reaching unseeingly for the half-discarded clothing restricting his mobility. It was a second before Kurapika realized that he was seeking out a pocket, the contents of it spilling onto the bedspread as he struggled with the material. Eyes hidden behind dark contacts hit what his partner had revealed, the answer to his dilemma spelling itself out with undertones of dogmatic irony. 

He'd decided how he wanted the night to end.

In hushed tones he sought consent, the other nodding quickly as the words slipped through his ears. Kurapika had anticipated it - why else would he have produced them? - already working open one of the packets of lube with his teeth and pouring it over his hand. There was no hesitation as he slipped his fingers under the other's legs, sliding within him hurriedly as he worked to get him prepared.

He's aware now that impatience and delusion are a toxic mix.

The body he stared at - panting, waiting, writhing - was not the one he'd taken back with him. Kurapika knows, thinking back to how quickly he'd shed himself of the rest of his clothing, that he should have been deterred by that. He knows, in his half-beating heart, that choosing to continue despite that was signing away another part of his soul - what's left of it, but he won't admit how much he's lost - and yet he'd taken that step forward. He'd kissed the shaking lips in front of him, knowingly, and pushed himself inside.

The second he sheathed himself in heat, he'd become a victim of delusion. This isn't what he'd wanted but it's as close as he'll get, unpracticed thrusts and scraping nails and all. It's just as well; his partner had moaned at the invasion, opening himself up further and arching his back, though he seemed unused to the intrusion. Kurapika licked his lips at the sight, watching as his own anatomy disappeared within the confines of the other's body in morbid fascination. His whole body had clenched tightly at that, his imagination getting the better of him as he recognized his own desire to be filled.

That had been all it took to break the dam, the walls he'd set up around his mind crashing down at the acknowledgment that his pleasure came not from the tight heat around him, but conceiving of that heat as _his own_.

He'd been rough in the beginning - an effort to contrast what he really desired - but slowed near the end, uncaring or unaware of how he'd relinquished control. His hands dragged over the man's body as he wished larger ones would do to his, if he'd taken the other's role. His mouth followed suit, moving from chest to neck to face as he'd dreamt - denial, denial - someone had done to him. Altered memories of past scenarios of shared beds and stories had given him insight into how he'd want to be held, insight that he'd put to good use. Kurapika had fucked the way he'd dreamed of being fucked, an echo of how the would-be lover said his name bringing him to completion.

_Leorio_. The name pervaded the recess of his mind a single time, and that's enough for him to hate himself.

The man had parted shortly after, Kurapika still recovering; unable to identify the difference between sweat and something similar against his face. He'd known that the stranger had been wary of leaving him, the unorthodox tender treatment at the end of their pairing had no doubt left him with a troubled impression. They'd not said a word before the door closed behind him - Kurapika thinks it's better that way. He wouldn't have known what to say in any case, seeing as how he'd never... He doesn't finish the thought. Instead, time all caught up, he slides back the outside door of the forty-second floor apartment, and steps into the cool night air.

It doesn't help. The feeling, the word; they're too much to write off as lies. He knows this, like he knows so many other things, but by this he is moved. For the first time in - days? months? years, perhaps? - he can truly say he feels alive; and he wants nothing more than to end it. This form of living; it keeps him in it's choke hold - that's the real reason he doesn't want to feel. It reminds him of what he no longer deserves. It wants nothing more than to feed on the remains of his humanity.

He screams into the abyss that is this dismal city, only to sink down onto the balcony floor and contemplate the worth of this existence.

It's a bad day.


	8. Sex and Self Hate: Leorio

It's been a good day, all things considered. Don't, he tells himself, ruin it with _that_.

But it's not like he's going to abjure forever, right? If he's going to - and let's be honest, he eventually _will_ \- it might as well be after a good day. It always manages to end badly if he holds it in until he feels like he needs it, for whatever reason, ending in heightened frustration and even more abstinence. No, if he's going to do it, it should be while he has a chance to finish on a good note.

He's had a date, and is really quite pleased about it. Despite what his school friends may say, or the way he may put on false airs at times, Leorio isn't very active in the dating scene. He never _has_ been really - his adolescence was complicated enough without the variable of girls involved. Poverty and illness had not done for him what it had done to some of his childhood acquaintances, giving them the motivation to preserve their family lines by procreating incessantly, fearful that at any moment they could vanish from existence. Leorio had been much too distracted for all that, more focused on finding bread and books and matches and shelter from the harsh gales of his hometown, big dreams haunted by memories of curable, incurable disease.

He likes to think he's come a long way.

Though he'd been quick to make friends, his university days had been served the purpose of educating him and not much else. Undergraduate studies passed in the blink of an eye, the inner renovations of the library denoting the largest passing of time in his mind. His professional studies progressed in much the same manner, differing only in that he'd established himself outside of his campus and had gained a handful of real world experiences. It was in his residency that he'd really been forced to think about his priorities - not that it was such a huge decision for him. A bit of drama had broken out between the residents, as was expected in a high pressure, highly condensed field, but Leorio had quickly distinguished himself by having none of it. On two different occasions he was propositioned in the on-call room by a coworker and both times he'd politely declined, washed the lipstick off of his face, and asked if they'd wanted to talk about it. The answer, it seemed, was always yes.

Suddenly, like awaking from a dream, things changed when he'd become an actual, proper, physician.

It wasn't as if he didn't have an interest in women. Leorio had always had an unconventional knack for pointing out the beauty in the ladies he'd meet, often thoroughly offending them in the overcompensation of his later teenage years. With age, and more so without the inner desire for outer pretense, Leorio had cultivated his keen eye and evolved his charm. He acted as he felt, not as he thought he ought to, and was smiled upon for it greatly.

Still, he knows that's not the full story.

Even with his alleged "interest" in women, Leorio never seemed to actually pursue them. School had been a reasonable enough distraction, especially with the rate at which he finished it, but the overwork and exhaustion excuses were beginning to wear thin, even in his eyes. It was only after one too many attempts on his chastity after entering the professional world that he truly began to question his own motives, wondering outright if perhaps romance wasn't something he was looking for after all.

Of course it wasn't. He was never going to do _that_ again.

The verdict had been concise and near-instantaneous, but surprised him nonetheless. He'd always imagined himself as the type to have it all: the job, the success, the friends, the family. He'd even admit to dreaming, on occasion, of little Leorios running around at his bedside sixty years in the future, proclaiming excitedly that grandpa was their favorite. With this vision so clear in his mind, how could he have so much trouble picturing sharing his life with someone else?

The answer was obvious, really. He'd been both lovelorn and heartbroken all within the stroke of his nineteenth year, and had never really recovered. If that was love, and there is no doubt in Leorio's mind that the crushing agony of said desire could have been anything else, he's just a bit bitter about it.

Which is precisely why he's all the more happy about the events of today. It had been quite some time since he'd crossed paths with another Hunter - finding out that he'd been sharing a place of employment with one had been nothing short of kismet. First contact had been like nothing else he'd ever experienced, the sight of her triggering an instinct to connect that he'd never known he possessed, rendering him still as stone as the inner recesses of his mind whispered of chemistry that it could not have known and equally could not be stopped. He'd stared dumbly from his spot in the staff cafeteria as she met his eyes, tight carnelian curls bouncing as she walked over and seating herself in front of him. He'd been so caught up in his wonder over her umber skin, the softness that he knew without touching would invade his very being, that he'd almost missed the crooked curve of her smile, the familiar mischief behind gem-cut irises.

No single moment in the Hunter's Exam could ever compare to the overwhelming nervousness he'd experienced in that moment.

She was a trauma surgeon - she has the steadiest hands Leorio has ever seen, and that's saying quite a bit - with a penchant for rebuilding bodies that by all logical assessment are no longer _bodies_. Leorio's watched as she's taken shredded organs and repieced them, a centimeter at a time, faster than most people can administer a local anesthetic. She's the "work first, answer for how that work is done later" type - more than once she's been put on probation for attempting a technique that hasn't even made it into the theory books, her success unquestionable. It certainly helps that her Nen is of the regenerative variety; she uses a scalpel like a paintbrush, sweeping over damaged tissue and rebuilding it from the most basic parts underneath. From what Leorio can tell, being under her knife is the most excruciating thing a person can endure, and he's never seen anyone more grateful (or luck) to be alive afterward.

Needless to say, he's captivated.

She's the one who asked him out; it would have taken far too many years for him to have worked up the courage despite a long lunch here and a casual consult there. He'd said yes far more quickly than either of them had expected and she'd laughed for far too long about it, but the logistics were eventually settled and out they'd gone.

All in all, he's floored by how well it had gone. The nervousness had subsided as soon as he'd changed out of his scrubs and into something more appropriate, leading to a healthy amount of excitement. They'd chosen an itinerary of few demands, looking more for things they could do while talking than what they'd imagined a typical date would entail. He'd learned that she'd had similar experiences as a child, on the other side of the world, fighting to survive diseases of various leprosy. He'd even been comfortable enough to share his own story, something that he'd always had difficulty vocalizing before, which had been a surprise. She took it as best as it could be taken, not making comparison and asking if it had affected how he chose to develop his Nen, like it had hers. They'd moved from there to being Hunters, what that meant as doctors, and what their futures could hold because of it. Whereas Leorio was going to cure the world, she planned on owning it. After all,she had shrugged, if she was in charge of the hospitals then she could also control distribution of care. Everywhere, they agreed, would be medically accessible under their vision.

They'd talked, they'd eaten, they'd laughed, and as they'd parted ways Leorio had turned to go only to be caught off guard by a kiss. It was sweet, clearly more restrained than what she'd completely wanted judging by the twist of her smile, and it had been memorable. By the time he'd gotten home the reality of it hadn't really sunk in, his head still feeling lighter than the rest of him as he basked in the afterglow.

And as a healthy, allosexual man, Leorio found himself curious about what other firsts this new relationship would include.

Night was still some ways off, but the apartment was quiet and he'd already eaten, giving him nothing but time. He passed some with coordinating his outfits for the week, a hot and relaxing long shower, before falling face down on his soft duvet. Warm, comfortable, slightly drowsy, Leorio remembers the feel of lips against his and is reminded of a certain part of his anatomy.

Don't, he thinks, ruin this with _that_.

He's not so much focused on the intricacies of the person he had just spent the day with as he is the way he feels about it. The company he'd been in had made him feel wanted and valid, liked and elated. He rolls onto his back, eyes closed, and lets his fingers wander over his lips. His body is currently ignoring his mind's plea, which tells him that even though she was holding back, that was one _hell_ of a kiss. Somehow, his hand's found it's way from his stomach to the crease of his thigh.

He's feeling warm from the bits and pieces of memories from that evening that are surfacing behind his eyes - the way her hair smelled (honey and lavender and something spicy beneath that) as the wind brushed it against his cheek while they walked, how her eyes would flicker to his lips and back up when his voice got deeper, the feel of her fingers around his as she pulled him through a crowded street. That was more than enough for his imagination to go wild, building a world of situations around them for his indulgence - future dates dancing to the music that had come from his country (something with a sensual beat and strings and horns), his hand on her waist as she'd spin into his arms, smearing buttercream on each other's noses during an outdoor picnic and watching how her face would scrunch with laughter, revealing the extent of his experience and being taught to kiss, slowly, gently, as she walked him through the basics at his own pace.

His hand has moved again, breaching the hem of the boxers he'd put on after showering. It's been long enough that he doesn't need to ease into it, touching himself lightly as his mind takes another turn, bringing him a whole new set of things to ponder over.

Though they work in the same unit, the hospital is big enough that she'd been there for over a month before their paths had crossed. Even so, Leorio likes the idea of her being in a space he's comfortable in and frequently stays in. He's already caught up in those moments - surprising her with coffee after she's worked a double and the benefits of overtired hugs, working on challenging cases together and experiencing a unity between their abilities as it combines to revive a young life, having a shoulder to press his forehead into when someone simply cannot be saved, the knowing support and empathy that only a Hunter and a lover could provide.

Something about that thought sparks it, as it always goes, only this time he's desperate enough to keep his fantasy that he tries to continue, tries to purge it. It's so much harder: now that he's got a full hold on himself, now that he's invested, now that there's someone else.

Leorio is near the brink of coming when his mind is invaded.

A smile - not a smirk, not a courtesy - a real smile as uncommon excitement bubbles forward. The curvature of a small but muscled back while stretching, strong and delicate all at the same time. The shift in gold as a head tilts to the side inquisitively, young eyes blinking in wonder and curiosity.

Leorio bites his lip as he tries to regain control, frantically trying to redirect his mind to the physicality of his "something new." It's his greatest mistake; now that he knows a single touch of flesh, he's able to imagine what it would be like in another context more vividly than ever.

Kurapika holding him tightly as he shakes, distraught over a failed mission but trusting the other's embrace. Kurapika shifting forward, less than half awake, to place a drowsy kiss on his nose and lips before falling back asleep in his blanketed cocoon. Kurapika naked, holding an injured hand outside of the shower while the other helps him bathe, laughing all the while at his stubbornness and sneaking in wet kisses when the blond is otherwise in dispose. Kurapika in his arms, Kurapika in his bed, Kurapika in every breathable space in his apartment and his life and everywhere in between.

 _Kurapika_.

Leorio stops moving with a jerk, his body going all to rigid for it to be natural. He's done it again, the most horrid of things, and this time it's different. This time it's worse than all the others, because it had not been about the Kurta. It had not been about unrequited longing, but he had managed to bastardize that too.

He prays, to no god in particular, that his feelings for her will not become entangled with those for the blond.

Leorio inhales shakily, choking, and unravels in quiet, accustomed sobs.


	9. Resolution: Leorio

Leorio never did get Kurapika's contact information, even after their paths had crossed again. He wonders just how hopeless that makes him.

It's been years at this point, creeping up on a decade. Leorio knows that if anything is a lost cause, it's his feelings for the blond. How he can even stand to live with himself, in the state of pining that he's existed in, is beyond him. He's put his career on hold, damned relationships before they've even started, and run halfway around the world just for the slightest hinting at the other's presence.

Not even hope. Just the thought he might catch a glimpse of him on the street.

The last time they'd seen each other, predictably, had not gone well. Working on the same project hadn't meant that they'd be together any more than the past years apart had. He'd asked for the other's email, a last ditch effort at holding some sort of a connection, and Kurapika had flatly refused. No emotion, no sarcasm, none of the dancing around the subject that he'd been doing in the days when four of them had roamed together, just a simple no. Leorio had never experienced such hurt over a rejection as he did in that moment, backing down and backing out of the other's life unless he was required. Even then, he did his best to keep it strictly professional.

He says this, but it's not like he was given any choice. Kurapika had joined of his own volition (though the request had been Leorio's), but that did not mean he owed the man a second of his time. That he made abundantly clear.

Leorio had known heartbreak because of the blond, but this was immediate. This was something he'd not known how to deal with when it had happened.

That's in the past, though; like everything else concerning Kurapika. His favorite books, his notes from the final phase of Hunter Exam, his bokken swords - they're all in a box under Leorio's bed, ornaments of a history he can't help but want to revisit. He cannot stop wishing and dreaming and trying to get Kurapika's attention, trying to connect with him, to at least find a single sign of life behind his analytics and cold chains.

He had wanted, in their final moments together, to tell Kurapika he loved him. He had wanted to face that rejection and be forced to move on. Instead, the other had turned away before he could speak and vanished into forbidden territory. Had Leorio been any younger, he'd probably have been foolish enough to follow.

The inordinate amount of patience and hopefulness he'd had in his youth has evaded him for quite some time now, making way for exhaustion and cynicism. 

Leorio knows it's time to grow up and face his reality; it's not a bad life he's living, one he knows others would sell their souls for. He's got nearly everything he'd set his sights on as a teenager, and would sell that for a moment of candid exchange with the object of his affections. There's a part of him that hates himself for that, but he's too tired to care.

In a year or two, he thinks, he'll be ready to move on with his life. There's a very capable woman, more capable than he, who runs his hospital, just waiting for the day he decides to pull his head out of his ass and come back to her. She'd refused to put her life on hold while he'd figured things out (and rightly so, he thinks) but he's also fairly certain that there's a possible future between them if he ever takes that step. The day he is, he'll ask her to marry him.

There's no melodrama in the thought; he's chosen a ring and everything.

Still, he holds back. It wouldn't be fair, at this point in his life, to move forward with something as wonderful as a union with the woman of his dreams. He's still lingering on the "what could have beens," the things he'd take back in a heartbeat if he could, the things he'd have fought harder for had he known. He will not bring her into his own personal hell for the sake of self-indulgence. Leorio may be broken, but he is not that man.

The wounds still feel fresh - it's only been a few weeks since their last encounter. It had been made worse by its unexpectedness; they hadn't worked on a mission together since their secret group had been disbanded and they'd gone their separate ways. Leorio had been happy in his career, _truly happy_ , when Kurapika had requested his aid, a local job. Leorio had come home to find the other bleeding on his couch, irritated over having waited so long. He'd not asked how he'd found him or even gotten in; it was not the first time it had happened, despite having resided in a new city.

After returning from their last rendezvous, the very first thing Leorio did was move house. It wasn't as drastic as his last change in locale (which had not been because of the blond), but it was a difference he had happily embraced.

It's a difficult decision, to live a life in which Kurapika has no place, but Leorio is ready to start. He's no longer responsible for only himself; there are more important people in his life now and he's working hard to protect them. His job requires consistent travel, working on a case by case basis as he develops new methods of treating illnesses that cannot otherwise be cured. He has a small network of close friends across the globe, and basks in their company whenever he can.

He is trying to convince himself that he does not need Kurapika. He is beginning to believe it.

Leorio will never stop being haunted by the things he wishes he'd had, but he no longer has to be devastated over them. He no longer has to mourn the death of a man who is still alive, who has chosen a life he does not approve of. He doesn't even have to think about it, but knows that's a stretch. Leorio is doing his best to make a place for himself in the world, blond or no blond.

His best hope is for a future in which he can remember the other as he was, as happy and driven, as a boy filled with wonder. Maybe - and it's the maybes that make it all the more painful - one day Kurapika will come back to him, the friend he once was. He won't hope for love; that's far too much to dwell on. Instead, he'll settle for a dream of knowing the other is trying simply to live.

His phone rings. 

"Hello?"

It's Kurapika.


	10. Resolution: Kurapika

Kurapika wished he was above the what could have beens, the stifling moments of quiet, lost in thought and longing. Stubborn and resilient, it is restless times like these that push him to the edges of his limits, and the brink of personal, intimate madness.

In a single breath, Kurapika knows his mortality, and truly fears what he's missing because of it.

The killing has become harder, in more than just one sense. Kurapika no longer feels the staunch detachment that he used to after his first, the hollow numbness that replaced his blood and insides the moment he made life ending contact. With age, and relative peace knowing that most of his people have been put to rest, Kurapika can feel himself slipping from time to time, experiencing something akin to emotion that he doesn't know how to deal with. Not only that, but those he hunts have become quiet, ghosts and stories and nothing more. He no longer has leads, no longer can trace their movements vis a vis a trail of tragedy. The world, it seems, is growing old with him.

Now that there's not much left for him, he is torn between tying up loose ends and ending his own existence.

Kurapika has no real desire to die; his own death is just another meaningless Kurta end, the true end of his line. The problem is that Kurapika has no real desire to _live_ either, nothing to look forward to once everything he's set out to do is done, once those responsible for his pain have been put in the ground. Kurapika knows that he's useful, knows that he has much to contribute to the world, but can't seem to find something that he _wants_ to do. There is very little that he wants, and those few things are what he's been denying himself for so long, he doesn't even know how to go about acquiring them.

He wonders what his friends are up to and shudders at the thought. By what definition are they his friends, anyway?

Kurapika has no illusions over the cause of his alienation - he knows full well that the rifts between him and the rest of the world were carved by his hands and tongue. He's acutely aware of just how much emotional damage he's caused them, how they've tried time and again to reach out despite that. What he doesn't know, after all these years, is what to do about that. In truth, he's terrified of the thought of facing them. 

He's terrified by Leorio.

These past years of fighting and torment have been punctuated by the smallest surfacing of affection, the only scrap of emotion that Kurapika hasn't been able to completely stamp out. He knows without a doubt that he isn't the only one - Leorio has done nothing but try to push his way into his life at every chance - but that doesn't change anything. Kurapika is just starting to acknowledge all of the signs he's been given, his own body and mind screaming the obvious at him, but barely being heard.

Kurapika is desperately in love. He has been since he was seventeen.

Slowly but surely, the child that used to share his soul is beginning to wake up inside him. It's a strange thing, to be so experienced in the world, to have controlled life and death, to have fucked, to have died, but never to have really grown up. Despite his own disgust at himself, Kurapika cannot help but be thankful for locking himself away, whether it was intentional or not. At least he is beginning to see that some of himself has survived. Maybe, if enough surfaces, he won't find an excuse to end himself before someone else does. He won't, he's decided, give anyone else that honor.

Still, that doesn't mean Leorio would even want to see him again. Even in the best of cases, if he were forgiven, what would he do? How would he go about winning Leorio's favor, not to mention his love? Would he even want that - to be loved after everything that he's done? The logical answer is yes, but Kurapika can't bring himself to feel that way. He can't bring himself to feel as if he deserves to be loved, and therefore denies himself the desire.

Or, at least, he does sometimes. Others, there's nothing in the world he wouldn't do to be able to curl into those arms, to tremble and fall apart as he's held.

He's far too inexperienced in love (years of loving don't mean anything if he's never acknowledged that, he thinks) to know what to do with it. His idea of courting isn't something he thinks either of them are fit for, let alone would be successful at. If anything, Kurapika is afraid of failure, and he doesn't think he could handle the awkward blunders of normal dating ritual. No, loving Leorio is far too important for mistakes. Kurapika would rather risk losing him entirely than fumbling; he's made that abundantly clear in his previous abandonments. 

This, as he sits and maps out his next mission, is still all _very_ hypothetical.

At any moment the rage could surface again, given the right circumstances. Kurapika doesn't like to think about that, knowing how difficult it would be to come out of it if he's given a reason to revisit vengeance, to complete what he's spent the majority of his life chasing after. He knows, beyond reasonable doubt, that if he were handed the chance to kill another member of the Troupe, he would take it. He couldn't not, after dedicating his whole existence to it.

He's changed, but not enough to be above that.

Kurapika isn't above wishing for a second chance, despite knowing that he's been handed them all of his life. He's aware of it and remorseful enough, at least that's his hope. If Leorio is half as loving and forgiving as he was when they'd first met, maybe - and it's the maybes that are the most painful -it's worth giving a shot.

For the first time in nearly a decade, he picks up his phone and debates making the call.


End file.
